Story by Mike Hotchkis: Dusk on the jagged Black Range. When we reach the highest point, Black Hill, we have the final glimpse of sunset. A pink, orange and blue mackerel sky hangs directly over distant St Mary's Peak, on the main range of the Flinders Ranges. A keen wind penetrates our light clothing.

Much, much later that night finds us in totally different country. Bare rounded hills, bathed in a diffuse grey light. The full moon is obscured by clouds now, leaving a view with no contrast, no shadows, no perspective at all. A distant hill and a nearby knoll appear indistinguishable, as if there are two hills where the map shows only one. We are wearing a few extra layers now against that cold breeze.

Morning sees us jogging again, along gravelly dry creek beds, or stepping through close-packed pines on the creek banks, or crossing broad open hillsides. The cloud has long gone and the sun warms us. The hours become minutes as we endeavour to clock up one more checkpoint before heading home.

Spinifex, or porcupine grass, covered some areas, and left more than just memories. Several days later I was still removing thorns from my hands.